Diamonds Are But Stone

by Peter Vollmer

  The front entrance consisted of a stout oak double door split in the middle, the panels at least two to three inches thick. It had expansion bolts top and bottom, penetrating deep into the frame that secured the one door when locked. The other panel had two locks, the one an automatic latch lock, the other a large normal type lock with an excessively large ornamental key. We had locked both when we closed the building against the storm.

  Every few minutes I would walk down the two passages to make sure that Carruthers’ men weren’t trying to enter through any of the windows. I was never away from the foyer for more than a minute or so. Maria stayed in the foyer watching the front door. I was sure they would try to gain entry through either the front or back entrance. The windows presented too much difficulty.

  Suddenly there was an enormous blast. The shockwave threw me to the floor, the interior of the building brightly illuminated by the flash. When I looked up, I saw that one door panel had been blown off its hinges while the other hung askew. I was stunned, my ears rang, and I was nearly deaf. I saw Maria pick herself up from the floor. The weather blasted in through the entrance, the rain penetrating into the foyer. Within a few seconds, I had grabbed Maria’s arm and pulled her into a dark corner.

  The next moment a figure wearing a rain slicker stepped into the entrance, silhouetted against the dim night sky. There was no mistaking the automatic pistol he cradled in his hands. He looked around; unable to see us hunkered down in the dark corner. I never hesitated; I remembered what Christopher had said. I lifted the automatic, snapped off the safety and fired. The figure jerked as the bullet hit him; he staggered backwards and then fell to the ground. Neither Maria nor I moved. A few seconds later, the man’s heels drummed a short tattoo on the ground and then lay still.

  I thought that the pistol’s muzzle flash might have given our position away. I pulled Maria out of the corner and then looked round the protruding wall to keep the entrance under observation. I could feel Maria’s body against my back and was aware of her face inches from my own.

  The next moment there was a double thud as something heavy bounced on the wooden floor. I peered through the darkness and immediately fell back, dragging Maria with me, squeezing us both against the wall.

  “Grenade!” I yelled. The shout was pure reflex inherited from the war years. We flattened ourselves.

  The grenade exploded with a blinding flash, the concussion blasting through the building. Fortunately, the corner of the wall behind which we had taken cover protected us from the shrapnel. I expected a charge through the door immediately after the explosion. I crawled forward on my stomach to the corner. I was right; two figures suddenly charged the entrance, firing rapidly into the bar.

  I fired four or five shots in the direction of where I had seen the muzzle flashes and was rewarded with a scream. One figure crashed to the floor and the other made a hasty retreat. As he turned to flee, I caught a movement to my left and saw Maria step out, her automatic clasped in both hands. Two shots rang out. The fleeing man arched his back and fell over backwards.

  “That takes care of three,” she said coldly.

  I became aware of movement behind me and turned to find Christopher and Bess approaching, both clutching automatics.

  Christopher saw the three bodies. “Fuck!” was all he said.

  “Grab whatever is most important -keep it light! Leave the rest. We’ve have to get out of here; we’re too vulnerable in the building. Christ knows what they’re planning next. I’m sorry, they got Samuel, he was hit in the chest,” Christopher said.

  The police officer’s death shocked me. Carruthers clearly meant business. I wondered what Trichardt would think of the shooting of a police officer when he was told of this. This surely added a new dimension to the vendetta.

  Maria and I raced back to the room, grabbed only our papers, the van keys and the satchel containing the satellite phone, we then quickly made our way back to the bar. As we entered the foyer, I became aware of a faint smell of petrol. For a moment, I was at loss as to where this came from, but then I saw the pillars supporting the portico light up as they caught the reflection of a fire. I realized what was happening.

  “Jeez! Everybody out! They’ve doused the building with petrol and set it alight,” I shouted. Fanned by the wind, the fire took hold like a blast furnace; in seconds, it was a roaring inferno fed by the old timbers of the building.

  We would make excellent targets when we exited the building, silhouetted against the firelight.

  “Come!” Christopher said. “Follow me.”

  We ran down a passageway and then into a room at the end. This had a door, which led outside, barred by a stout crossbar that fitted into sockets. He removed this and then indicated that the two of us throw our weight against it. It burst open at our second attempt and we stumbled down the few steps that led to the ground.

  The door was on the leeside of the building, the fire on the opposite windward side, so we were still in darkness. The storm whipped around us so we could not hear each other, but Christopher gestured that we follow him. He led us away from the hotel towards the high ground, which was, dotted with outcrops of coral, trees, and bushes. Other than the palm trees, everything else was now leafless. The rain came down in sheets striking us from behind, making it difficult to walk, as we sloshed through the raging torrents that gushed down the incline.

  I turned round, my eyes mere slits trying to look through the driving rain and wind. The whole building was now on fire, the flames fanned like a blowtorch in the wind. God, I’d never seen anything burn like that; I was sure it would burn to the ground in minutes. There would be nothing to salvage.

  Christopher grabbed my shoulder and urgently jerked me into motion again. We finally made it to a large coral outcrop and took shelter behind this from the wind and rain. He handed me Samuel’s rifle and indicated I should keep watch.

  I stared over the top of the outcrop into the rain and wind. The burning building helped illuminate the ground between the hotel and us. I could see four people standing away from the building watching the fire. I brought the rifle to my shoulder but then thought better of it. It seemed that they had not yet noticed that we had escaped. Clearly, they were waiting for us break-out from the fire so that they would be able to pick us off at their leisure. We had left just in time.

  The women hunkered down at the foot of the outcrop, which afforded them some protection against the worst of the weather. Christopher was speaking to them, gesticulating in the direction of the opposite side of the island. He then rose and climbed to lie prone next to me. He brought his face right next to mine.

  “The fuckin’ bastards. I’m going to kill them. They’re going to make their way back to the Montrose place - that’s the only place they can go. They probably think we died in the fuckin’ fire,” he shouted.

  “Chris, take it easy,” I said, trying to placate him. He was wild, almost out of control; hell-bent determined to inflict death and pain on the perpetrators, throwing caution to the wind

  “You don’t have to fuckin’ come if you don’t want to,” he shouted again, but I could hear the challenge in his voice. “These motherfuckers are trying to kill us; we’ve every right to kill them. Damn them! Come’on, let’s get them - they’ll never expect us.”

  What was I suppose to do? I couldn’t let him go on his own - he’d think me a coward. He was right, of course. We had every right to go after them. If we didn’t, they’d kill us on their next try. We had just been lucky.

  “Where are the fuckin’ cops?” I yelled.

  “I don’t know - we can’t wait! Give me the rifle.” I didn’t know what to do so I handed it to him. He didn’t wait for a reply, took the rifle, and scrambled down the outcrop.

  Christ! I thought did I have a choice.

  I bent down and shouted at Maria.” I’m going with him.”


  She just stared at me.

  We scrambled up the slight incline leading away from the shore. With no light behind us, there was no chance of us being seen in this rain and wind.

  “We’re damn lucky,” Christopher said. “We’ve missed the worst of the storm.” I wondered how much worse it could have been! “It only hit us a glancing blow,” he shouted.

  Well, I was glad I wasn’t going to be around for the real thing. I had heard somewhere that the Caymans experience more hurricanes than anywhere else does in the world. We were having a foretaste, which was enough.

  As we got further from the sea, the storm seemed to become less intense, although it still shoved us around. We had to walk hunched over, careful that we were not bowled over.

  We must have walked for at least an hour in this manner. I had no idea where we were going; I just dutifully followed the outline of the human frame in front of me, moving my limbs like an automaton. He didn’t stop; he relentlessly plodded on. My side ached; I hadn’t yet properly recovered and this sudden exertion wasn’t helping.

  I collided with him. He had stopped. I looked around but could not see anything other than trees and bush. He pointed and then I saw the outline of a bungalow and the faintest of lights.

  “That’s it.”

  “Tell me Chris, what the fuck do you propose to do now? Are we going to charge the place, or what? You must be bloody insane. You’ll get us killed!” I said loudly. “They’re professional killers! We don’t stand a chance.”

  “Bullshit! We’ll waylay the four that are bound to return from the hotel. They’ll come this way. They’ll never be expecting it - it’ll be a bloody turkey shoot. There can’t be more than three or four in the house.”

  He indicated to me where I was to take up position behind a thicket of scrub that had somehow managed to retain its foliage in the storm. He took up a similar position about forty yards away.

  We had only waited about fifteen minutes when I saw the lights of an approaching vehicle. Christopher had also seen it, standing up to look. We had to be at least a hundred and fifty yards from the road. As the vehicle neared, I saw the blue lights flashing on its roof. Thank God, I thought; it was the police. At least Christopher couldn’t try anything stupid now. I moved over to where he was standing.

  He swore under his breath. “It’s the damn police. We better go across to them.”

  The occupants of the police vehicle had already alighted when we got to them and were walking towards the bungalow. Although he was wrapped in a slicker and wearing a helmet that resembled a firefighter’s hat, I immediately recognized Whittle.

  “What are you people doing here?” he shouted.

  This was one time where I was going to leave the talking to Christopher.

  “I’m looking for Carruthers,” Christopher snarled.

  Whittle laughed. “You bloody fool,” he said. ”They’re gone - all of them. I’ve the two women in the Land Rover.” He gestured towards the station wagon. ”They told me you were on your way here to the Montrose house, that’s why I’m here. What were you planning to do?”

  “What do you mean they’re gone? Christ, they shot your man, we shot a few of them, and then they burnt the hotel down probably thinking we were in it,” he shouted, his voice brimming with scorn.

  “I know. Now calm down. They’re gone. You can be sure the house is empty. If you’re an accomplice in getting three people killed and two seriously hurt, you don’t stick around, do you?”

  “Where have they gone to?” I asked.

  “Mr van Onselen! Why is it that whenever there’s trouble you seem to be around? You never fail to surprise me.” He was clearly being sarcastic.

  I ignored the tone. “Where?” I repeated.

  “Who knows? In this weather, they can’t leave the island; not be sea or air. So, they’ve probably gone underground. You realize that if we don’t find Trichardt and Carruthers with the men who committed these murders, they’ll walk free. We’ve no direct evidence against them. Their only survivor is wounded so badly I don’t think he’ll make it. Who says that those staying at the house were working for Carruthers? How do we prove who is working for whom, huh?” A frustrated smile twisted his lips.

  “You said two survivors. Who’s the other?” I asked.

  “Samuel, he’s chest shot, he’s bad, but he’ll make it,” Whittle replied.

  I was relieved to hear that, we had left him for dead.

  “How did he get away from the fire?”

  “You won’t believe it! He rolled out of the attic window on to the veranda roof and dropped to the ground. The storm blew the flames away from him. He managed to crawl to safety. Tough bastard,” Whittle said, but I could hear the tremor in his voice. He was proud of the man and his bravery.

  The rain came down and the wind still blew a gale but there was no doubt it was abating.

  “The storm’s passing,” Christopher said.

  Whittle nodded. He looked at Christopher. “Don’t worry, they can’t fly out. The airport is closed; it’s flooded. There is debris all over the place. It’ll take a day or two to clean up.”

  “Then it’s going to be by boat,” Christopher responded vehemently.

  I thought of the cabin cruiser. That was big enough to handle this weather, now that the storm was passing. It would be a rough ride but the boat could do it.

  “ Com’on!” I said. “Let’s make for Cotton Tree Bay, that’s where it’s lying at anchor - the cruiser that tried to wipe us out on the ski-boat. They must be heading there.”

  A constable wearing a slicker over his Island police uniform approached,

  “Sir, the house is empty,” he said.

  I thought so,” said Whittle. “Well, there you have it; what did I say?” He addressed Christopher, who spat an expletive.

  Whittle seemed to have decided on a new tactic with regard to the Carruthers investigation. I was surprised that he had not asked whether we were carrying guns; I could recall the paranoia on the previous occasion. Clearly Whittle had to know that we had weapons otherwise how else had those been killed at the hotel. Maybe he thought it better that we were armed, considering that Carruthers had seemingly had not relented in the quest to kill us.

  He had not yet asked who had killed whom. No doubt, he’d get round to that. Maybe he thought poor Samuel had done all the shooting.

  He must have read my mind. “I’ll take the rifle, thank you,” he said to Christopher.

  Reluctantly he handed the rifle over.

  “I took that from Samuel after he was shot,” Christopher said.

  “I know - pity you did not rescue him,” Whittle replied sarcastically.

  “I thought he was dead!” The islander responded, not liking the insinuation.

  Whittle did not reply.

  We all climbed into the Land Rover, which at my request, drove us to the Beach Hotel to collect our van.

  It was a dismal sight. The hotel had burnt to the ground; the super-heated wind-fed flames had spared nothing. Only the stone walls still stood, charred and blackened. Nothing even smouldered; the rain had extinguished the fire once the worst of it had burnt itself out. There was nothing to salvage.

  Poor Bess broke down in tears and wailed loudly; Maria had her arms around her shoulders trying to console her. Whittle eventually persuaded the women to get into the Land Rover. I took the Ford Transit van from the garages, which fortunately were untouched, being too far from the hotel building. We drove to the Cotton Tree Hotel.

  Christopher and Bess asked to be dropped off at family of theirs on the island, but I insisted that they stay at the hotel at my expense, at least until the morning.

  The Cotton Tree Hotel was built on a knoll overlooking the natural harbour and one look was enough to tell us that no boats would be leaving
any time soon. The natural opening to the lagoon was a maelstrom of waves and churning water - no boat could get out.

  We finally managed to get somebody to respond to our insistent banging on the door. We took three rooms and by mutual agreement with the concierge decided to complete the paper formalities at reception the next morning.

  Maria and I were cold and exhausted. Clearly, my body was not yet ready for any wild exertions and every movement was now painful. Not bothering with a clean up, I just stripped off my wet clothes and climbed under the sheets. Maria opted for a shower. I was asleep before she emerged from the bathroom.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  I woke to find that the wind had stopped and the room pervaded by a grey light. The sky was a dirty mass of scudding cloud. The storm had passed.

  Maria was still asleep. I got out of bed and walked over to the window that overlooked the lagoon. Out at sea the aftermath of the storm still lingered, the mouth to the lagoon still a raging mass of water, but it had abated considerably overnight. The cabin cruiser still rode at anchor, its cockpit area covered by an awning. Nobody appeared to have boarded the boat.

  I wanted to contact Gavin and could have done so using a tedious process of being patched through to the aircraft’s radios. But he was probably not aboard and had in all likelihood booked into a hotel. The aircraft’s radios would be off. I would just have to wait until he contacted us on the satellite phone.

  It was ten in the morning when I went down stairs and completed the book-in formalities. I paid with my American Express Gold Card. I asked to borrow binoculars, which the reception clerk surprisingly was able to produce, I promising to return them soonest.

  I needed a high vantage point and returned to the room to find Maria in the shower again.

  She stepped out of the bathroom with a large white towel wrapped round her body. She walked up to me, pecked me on the lips, and then grabbed my crotch, a knowing smile on her face.